nun

I knew we were being watched in the convent. Too closely in my opinion. But, in spite of their motive in saying so, I never felt watched by God. I also never felt bullied by that same deity. If anything, I felt his absence.

I felt ignored by him.

Forgotten.

Unimportant.

In spite of endless hours on my knees in prayer, I never felt one inch closer to that distant, male god of my youth.

Years later, however, I look back and realize how Spirit had been there for me all along, and how she/it tendered me along through the gray labyrinth of those seemingly endless days.

As I look back now and write about the emptiness, I reclaim that Presence, and allow it to wash over my years. And though I understand he/she/it no better, I embrace and celebrate it fully.

In every day–and every moment–and with every breath.

In my book, I retrace the journey of my loss and unexpected rediscovery.

One of my favorite people in the whole world was the Mother Superior whose “reign” spanned my last years in the convent. In total contrast to the bossy nun who preceded her, this woman of authority treated each individual with great dignity. Vatican II took hold while she served office, and she used her position to gently guide the community away from an atmosphere of authoritarianism and into democracy. It caused quite a ruckus, but I was among the many who were thrilled at the reforms. Others, however, staunchly objected to every single change. It puzzled me why anyone would prefer to remain in Dark Ages.

Obviously. . . .otherwise, I wouldn’t have stowed away in a convent for nineteen years. When I believed I had failed to discover the Divine behind the cloister walls, I looked elsewhere. Rather than finding the reassurance and comfort a traditional God, I discovered it in Nature. Trees, especially, were a source of light during my darkest times. (Those times to be revealed in my book). I often headed deep into the woods and settled at the base of a cluster of pine trees, where a soft and uplifting presence took me over.

Since leaving the convent, I continue to seek the Divine. Only now, I seek it outside the realm of traditional religions or churches. I find a solid ground and hope–often through Trees. As it happens, I have known Trees to be among the most ancient of living beings on our planet, and find that sense of divine presence magnified among the more Ancient Standing Ones.

Fifteen years ago, a few friends and I visited the site of a 2000 year old Cedar tree in Northern Idaho. It towered above the surrounding forest in magnificent glory, while we hastened to gather at its feet. We were unable to speak, we simply stood, breathing in her splendor.

I felt touched. . hushed. . deepened.. .

seen.

I have since learned that there are even more ancient, beings on our planet. Even more than we are aware of. Pictured above is sea grass, that has been living in Spain for 100,000 years. The sight of such beauty brings me to my knees. Something I was too often required to do in the presence of our tabernacled God in the convent.

It feels like I’m walking barefoot in the snowdrift outside my door, and leaving deep imprints on the frozen landscape. Beginning a new blog feels the same…like mincing cold-footedly through the how to’s and what for’s of a new dashboard.

Slippery and cold terrain for me.

Getting used to the convent was worse, because I was only fifteen years old and four hundred miles from home.

So, for the past few years, I’v been up to my eyeballs putting words on paper, and trying to slog my way through the writing terrain. I aim to finish and finally published a book by the end of 2014.